Prodigal Son
by CIFan812
Summary: *Part 7 of the Second Hand Sons Verse* Dean sighed. They never actually talked about Sam. They both went to go check up on him and John knew Dean would tell him if he detected any trouble on his visits or during his phone calls. But there had been no trouble, so Sammy never came up in any of their conversations. The elephant in the room that neither of them wanted to acknowledge.


**Prodigal Son**

_AN: Part 7 in the Second Hand Sons series._

He would have died rather than admit it, but after the excitement and stress of moving into the dorm and starting his classes died down Sam missed his family. At first, Dean called once a day, but when Sam was too busy to talk for long or even answer much of the time he started calling once a week. He wasn't sure when, exactly, Dean stopped. He just suddenly realized that it had been months since he'd heard from his brother. Well, if Dean didn't need him he didn't need Dean. When he broke his phone and had to get a new one, he didn't bother to call either Dean or John to give them his new number.

John never called. He didn't really expect him to with the way they left things, but still. It was obvious that they had both cut him out of their lives. He told himself it didn't matter because now he could live his own life and be his own person. Just like he'd always wanted.

***SPN*SPN*SPN***

They'd only tried to get John to leave Dean's hospital room once. It was the second night. The first, when they hadn't been sure he'd make it, they had given him some slack. But when the boy had made it to daylight and his odds moved up from somewhere south of 50/50 to the high 70s they made it clear that they expected John to adhere to visiting hours. He ignored them. When the nurse asked him to leave shortly after the end of visiting hours that day, he'd refused curtly. He wasn't budging from Dean's bedside until he saw those eyes open. And even after that, he didn't think he'd be leaving the boy for an entire night. He might not be the boy he was when they met, but John knew that Dean wouldn't do well alone and vulnerable. He'd made a promise, so they'd damn well better get used to it.

When the doctor came to try to talk some sense into him, John calmly cursed him out. A few minutes later and orderly brought in a cot. When Dean finally woke up the next day, he asked for his cell phone. John explained that it had been smashed in the fall that nearly cracked Dean's head open, and that he would have been happy to let him borrow his if the hospital didn't block cell signals. He didn't offer to call Sam himself, although he was tempted just to make Dean feel better. The kid was silent and moody for the rest of his stay. He didn't think he could stand a second rejection from Sam even for Dean's peace of mind. Besides, he'd be out of here soon enough and would be able to call his brother himself.

John would have sprung him early, but head injuries were funny things and he wasn't taking any chances with his son. It was a week before Dean was given a clean bill of health and allowed to leave. The kid still had the occasional headache. Nothing horrible, just a lingering echo of the monster that had plagued him during the first part of his stay in the hospital. At his insistence, John stopped by the cell store to get him a new phone and activate it on the way to a hotel. A nice one for a change. As soon as he got the phone he checked his messages. John watched Dean's mood slowly darken as he cycled through them. Finally, he ended the call and tossed the phone on the dash.

"Everything alright?" John winced. It was a stupid question. Everything obviously wasn't alright. He wondered if Sammy had said something insensitive in a voicemail. The kid seemed to have chronic foot-in-mouth disease whenever he got his dander up about something. Maybe he felt slighted by Dean being a week late for his check in.

"Everything's _peachy_."

John spared him a glance. "What'd Sammy do this time?"

Dean sighed. They never actually talked about Sam. They both went to go check up on him and John knew Dean would tell him if he detected any trouble on his visits or during his phone calls. But there had been no trouble, so Sammy never came up in any of their conversations. The elephant in the room that neither of them wanted to acknowledge. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing."

"Nothing?" That seemed like an odd thing to be upset about.

"I call the kid every week for two years, and you'd think that he'd be a little worried if I miss a week. Maybe call me once or twice. Leave a damn voicemail. I shoulda known when he didn't try you."

"Dean…"

"You know what? It's fine." His arms were crossed and his voice was hard and tight. It was clearly anything but fine. "He never wants to hear from me anyway. He's not interested in anything that I wanna talk about and my damn eyes glaze over whenever he's goin' on about the crap he's into now."

John swallowed down the lump in his throat. It had been bad enough that Sam cut him out of his life, but he thought at least he'd still have a relationship with his brother. "I'm sorry."

"'s not your fault, Dad. You saved him just like you saved me. That should've been enough."

But it hadn't been. John could never ignore that fact. He had missed something, misread what Sam needed. As a consequence, he'd failed him. Failed Dean too, since John had cost him his brother.

***SPN*SPN*SPN***

When the cabin finally came into view, Sam heaved a sigh of relief. For a while it had seemed like they were traveling in circles, but if that were true there would be no cabin right in front of them now. It seemed like it had appeared out of nowhere. He huffed out a shaky breath. The atu was only deceiving him. Dean had somehow seen through it. He glanced at his brother, trying to figure out how he'd done it. Was he keeping more secrets?

According to Dean, the blood he saw wasn't more than three days old, though how he could know that was beyond Sam, and it made sense that the trail would lead here. John had always taught them to seek shelter if they were wounded and couldn't get to civilization. Try to build a fire if it was safe. There was smoke, faint but unmistakable, rising from the chimney. Dean glanced at him over his shoulder. The message was clear. Be careful.

It felt like an eternity before Dean was finally opening the door. John was in a crumpled heap in the far corner, shaking so hard that the toe of his boot was tapping out a rhythm on the wall. Sam would have thought he was unconscious if he hadn't raised his gun and squinted at them.

"Dean?" he asked in disbelief, his voice weak and dry like paper rustling. "Sam? Damn…"

He sighed and lowered the gun. He was still eyeing them wearily as Dean rushed forward. Sam couldn't figure out why he looked so resigned rather than relieved until he suddenly realized that he thought they were some sort of illusion caused by the atu. And he wasn't going to shoot them anyway.

Dean dumped the bag he was carrying with first aid supplies. He silently blessed his brother for his unrelenting optimism. Sam watched them from halfway inside the cabin, his bow at the ready. Someone had to watch their backs. All he wanted to do though was kneel on the opposite side of their father and help Dean. Right after he apologized for being a dick.

"Dad, I got you," his brother was saying as he set up the IV right before checking John's wound.

The clearest danger to their father was lack of fluids. Sam sucked in a breath when he saw the wound. John had actually seared it closed. The resolve that had to take made him shudder. It had probably kept him alive. Unfortunately, while John had kept himself from bleeding out infection had clearly set in.

"I'm sorry…" John was saying, his voice raspy and barely audible. "Promised not to leave."

"You didn't leave, Dad. You're right here."

"Don't… please don't kill my son. He'll look for me…"

Dean blinked like he was trying not to cry. "It's me, Dad. Me and Sammy. We came to find you." John looked like he was trying to respond, but started to convulse and then went limp. "Dad? _Dad_! No, no, no, no, no…" Dean pressed his fingers against John's pulse point. "Don't do this to me, Dad. You can't… you can't leave. You… you promised me, damn it. _Sammy_!"

Sam started to rush to them when an odd feeling crept up his spine. He turned his head to find himself face to face with the atu. He tried to raise his bow and arrow but he was too close and it swatted them away, leaving his hands stinging from the blow.

He could see Dean out the corner of his eyes, clutching their father's body. He felt anger in the pit of his stomach. It wasn't supposed to end like this, damn it. They were supposed to find their father and he was supposed to apologize and they'd… they'd start over. He was supposed to have a chance to make things up to him. He clinched he jaw and glared at the thing that had stolen the opportunity from him and it glared back. Its skin was like liquid silver and gave the impression that if he touched it, his fingers would come away slick and silvery. But its eyes were black and empty. Like a demon's.

The atu reached for him and he reached for his ability. The thing that he hated, that he blamed for making him a freak and ruining his life. It exploded out of him and the atu went flying like a bug swatted by a giant invisible hand. It slammed against the wall so hard that it was stunned. Or maybe it had just been stunned that he had been able to throw it like that. He reached out for the arrow lying on the ground with his mind, grasped it and sent it hurtling tip first into the atu's chest. The porous center of the arrow head leached its poison into the creature's body and it screeched. Sam didn't stay to watch. He rushed to John's side just as he gasped in a breath.

"He's got a fever and his breathing is compromised." Dean informed him as he injected something into the IV he'd set up. Sam had no idea what it was, but he trusted his brother above anyone else on earth not to give their father something that would kill him. "We gotta get him to a hospital. Now."

They weren't that far into the tree cover, according to Dean. Sam pulled out his cell phone and saw that if finally had bars. Not many, but enough. "Thank God," he muttered as he dialed 911.

***SPN*SPN*SPN***

Sam sat in a chair next to his father's bed while Dean filled out the paperwork. He had one hand over John's. They'd never been a touchy-feely family, but they were always more comfortable with showing how they felt rather than actually saying it. He willed his father to open his eyes, to wake up. When they first got here, he and Dean had been forced to stay in the waiting room while they tried to bring John's temperature down to a manageable level. They'd been forced to give him an ice bath, which sent him into shock. He'd coded twice before they got him stabilized. Then they'd had to clean out his infected wound.

Now, he was hooked up to a dialysis machine and receiving fluids, nutrients and massive doses of broad-spectrum antibiotics by IV. It scared him to see his father look so pale and defenseless. John had always been so big and strong and in control. His temperature was still too high and his blood pressure was still too low. But he was alive and still breathing on his own.

"Dad, I'm sorry. I… I was an idiot. You've gotta wake up so I can say that to your face. Roberts… he gave up the right to call himself my father the first time he hit me. You made me safe and you never treated me like a freak. I misunderstood so damn much." He wiped away a stray tear with the sleeve of his hoodie. "Please, Dad. You can't die."

He lowered his head, listening to the machinery and his father's labored breathing. He felt his father's hand move underneath his. Not strong, but it was definite movement. His head whipped up and he found himself looking into hazel brown eyes. "Dad?"

John's brow knit into a frown and his lips twitched. "S-Sammy?"

"Yeah, it's me. We found you. Well, Dean found you. He'll be right back." John frowned and looked around. "You're in the hospital. You have sepsis."

John's eyes returned to him. "You… came… for me?"

Sam's heart lurched. He almost hadn't come. If Dean hadn't told him the truth, if he hadn't been so curious to get to the bottom of everything, he wouldn't have. "I'm sorry. For everything, Dad."

John's eyes were suspiciously watery. "Me too."

"Don't… Please save your strength, okay? You almost died a couple of times. You're the only dad we have and we need you."

John's hand squeezed his. Just then, Dean came back muttering to himself about paperwork and signing away his soul.

"I hope this alias holds up long enough…" his voice trailed off as he noticed John's eyes were open. "Dad?"

John gave him a small smile and Dean rushed to stand next to Sam, placing a hand on John's forearm. "Stuck with me," John managed.

Dean snorted out a laugh. "Yeah. Guess we're stuck with each other, old man."

Sam felt like he was trespassing on a private moment, but he refused to give in to that feeling. He was just as much John's son as Dean. They were all bound by something stronger than blood. He could feel it now, the thing he had been missing for the past four years. He wasn't going to freeze them out again. He didn't know what that meant for his future, but right now it didn't really matter. Everything would work out somehow. "All of us are," he said. John's grip on his hand got stronger.


End file.
